


no rain was acknowledged in the making of this fic

by petalprose



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/F, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Marriage Proposal, Other, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalprose/pseuds/petalprose
Summary: It’s raining, and Crowley is looking down at a kneeling Aziraphale, the image of a ring burned into her retinas.“Did you just,” Crowley looks up, back down at the crown of Aziraphale’s head, looks around her, and, increasingly perplexed, continues, “Did you just try to propose to me?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57
Collections: The Ineffable Con 2, cross's portfolio





	no rain was acknowledged in the making of this fic

Aziraphale is on her knees in front of Crowley, damp and flustered. Crowley looks down at her, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as Aziraphale ducks her head.

It’s raining. It’s an absolute _downpour,_ and there’s the distant quacking of ducks, there’s the opening of umbrellas, the hastening of footsteps, and Crowley’s still sat on her arse on a park bench, and Aziraphale is frantically searching the ground, and she’s chanting _oh dear, oh dear_ under her breath because—because—

“Did you just,” Crowley looks up, back down at the crown of Aziraphale’s head, looks around her, and, increasingly perplexed, continues, “Did you just try to propose to me?”

“Emphasis on try,” says Aziraphale, remorsefully, and sits back on her heels. Absently, Crowley notes that her hair has gotten thoroughly wet from the rain, clinging to her face. No less beautiful, no less Crowley’s angel. Very much soaking, however. And, oh, there’s the ring, sitting unassumingly on her palm, and Crowley’s absent observations become very present indeed.

“That’s a ring,” says Crowley, in a stunning, commendable display of observational prowess.

“Well spotted,” says Aziraphale, and her tone of voice turns its chin up. It’s maddening. Has Crowley mentioned yet, in her train of thought, how much she adores Aziraphale? “I’ll place it on your finger for you to observe it better, shall I?” A pause, and before Crowley can even begin to form a coherent response, she sighs. “I don’t suppose you think this is romantic anymore?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” says Crowley, and then, with feeling, “No, angel, why _wouldn’t_ I?”

“Well! To begin with, I’ve dropped the ring,” says Aziraphale, and if it wasn’t clear that her curtness was a result of her embarrassment before, it was now. “And now it’s raining cats and dogs! Oh, dear—let me,” she says, and as if they weren’t in _public,_ on the heels of a _proposal,_ she rolls her shoulders and lets her left wing settle over Crowley’s form.

“Hmm, yes, thank you,” says Crowley. She’d honestly forgotten it was raining. “And now on to more pressing matters, angel, just… Get on the bench with me! Yes, okay, good, now.” She takes Aziraphale’s hands in hers, and her eyes catch on the ring. She stares for just a second too long, because Aziraphale squeezes her hands in confusion, and she shakes herself out of her awed stupor. She devotes the next few seconds of unnecessary breathing to assembling a sentence, and in the end comes up with, “Hhhgjnk?”

Aziraphale understands what she means. Or, at least, arrives at a conclusion close enough to the point Crowley was trying to make that her answer still applied. “This was meant to be a proposal,” she says, meeting Crowley’s eyes and immediately ducking her head. She turns the hand holding the ring around, depositing it in Crowley’s hand, and, tone deceptively level, elaborates: “A marriage proposal, to be specific.”

“A marriage proposal,” echoes Crowley.

Aziraphale takes a deep breath as though to fortify herself and looks back up at Crowley’s face. She reaches up, takes Crowley’s sunglasses off, tucks it into Crowley’s shirt. “Crowley,” she begins, “We’ve been... Courting, in an official capacity, for the better part of two years.”

“Yes,” Crowley agrees, because it’s certainly a true statement. Also, she is rehearsing her answer. Wouldn’t do to forget the most important word in the history of language the moment she needs it most.

“And throughout all this time, you’ve been lovely. Our relationship has been lovely. It was even before we were able to be open with our affections, in fact.” Aziraphale is smiling now, and it’s sweet, and Crowley can’t wait to get the ring on her finger and sweep Aziraphale off her feet and out of the rain. At that thought, Crowley’s own wings shake themselves into corporeality, and shield Aziraphale from the downpour.

Aziraphale’s gotten hopelessly drenched by this point, having focussed thus far on keeping Crowley as dry as she could, and still she flushes and her smile changes from soppy to radiant. She shuffles closer, continuing, “I’ve known you six-thousand years, and I’ve spent them all in awe of you, at your beauty, your kindness, your curiosity, your cunning…” Here she laughs, catching Crowley’s increasingly embarrassed expression. “And I can easily see myself spending six-thousand more years with you, more and more besotted with each passing day.”

“Wow,” croaks Crowley, and the rainwater must’ve soaked her to the bone before Aziraphale lifted her wing up, she’s got water in her eyes, “Angel, uh. _Mmn._ ”

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you too, you know,” blurts out Crowley, and resists the urge to turn into a snake and slither off until she can think straight again. “I do. Spent six-thousand years with you, and your”—she squeezes Aziraphale’s hands as she talks, helpless in the face of Aziraphale’s growing grin—“ _you,_ angel, your fussiness and your devotion, and, your _care_ for me, and.” She swallows. “And everything that you are. Angel. I love you.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Aziraphale sniffles.“There was more to this speech,” says Aziraphale, still grinning, teary-eyed now and voice wavering, “Though I believe you’ve rather derailed it.”

“Can use the rest at our wedding,” suggests Crowley, leaning forwards to rest her forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Aziraphale. You know what my answer will be.”

“Then I suppose all that’s left is asking the question.” Aziraphale straightens up and transfers Crowley’s hand so she’s holding both of Crowley’s hands in one of her own. She raises her free hand up to Crowley’s cheek. “My dearest, my sweetheart, my best-friend,” she says, “My love, my darling, my beloved. _Crowley._ Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” says Crowley, not even trying to pretend she isn’t crying anymore, and the moment Aziraphale’s finished slipping the ring on to the right finger, she’s surging forward and kissing Aziraphale with all the energy she’s got.

They sit there on the park bench, trading kisses and snippets of plans— _wedding plans!_ —for a long while after.

**Author's Note:**

> every day i wake up and i cry over these two. for the ineffable con 2 zine!! gosh the event was so fun. have a good day!


End file.
